This is my father’s hat. The one he wore to my wedding with his light blue Goodwill suit. The one that hangs on my closet door beside my belts. The one that is my most regular reminder of him. He died four years ago today — a lifetime, a blink of an eye — in a south San Antonio nursing home in the room at the end of a long hallway. His death seemed to set off a series of deaths — his cousin, his sister, Chris’s own father. Loss upon loss. In all my existential ponderings, I have no answers. What it means that my father is gone. How I know him now in ways I didn’t know him then. What remains. But I have his hat, its pale plaid, yellowed brim, and I remember that he wore it well.
May 4, 2015